Gerin gazed among the pavilions, reading the devices and looking for those that he knew. There was the green oak on a barred field of azure and gold-that was Sir Grenfell. The boar and spear on scarlet belonged to Lord Bossit; and the silver lance and shield on checkered black and white was the blazon of Sir Hedric of Bellavee. There were also Benniot’s silver and blue double eagle, Rudd’s red ox on sable, and Fincher’s gauntlet clutching white thunderbolts.

There were more that he did not know-harts and hounds, mailed fists and morions, poniards and preying birds-but he did not see the two he hoped most to see: the black hawk on crimson, and the gray gauntlet clutching crossed mace and flail.

“Where is Theido, father? And Ronsard? I do not see them,” the Prince said, craning his neck around the perimeter of the field.

“They will be here before the hunt is through. Theido sent word that he will arrive tomorrow, and Ronsard likewise. They will not miss the hunt. Do not worry; your friends will come.”

They arrived at the King’s pavilion and dismounted. The ascending rows of banks were already filled to overflowing, and more people were crowding in. In the very front row, however, were chairs set up behind a banister for the royal family and their entourage. The Queen took her place, and the Princesses beside her, smiling and waving to all who greeted her. The King, instantly surrounded by well-wishers, slowly made his way to his chair where he remained standing and signaled the herald.

A long clear blast of the trumpet summoned the riders, who began filing onto the field, arranging themselves in ranks before the King’s pavilion. When all were ready, the King nodded to a man with a wide leather baldric from which dangled a hunting horn.